Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Heat

“Isn’t that a little dramatic?” I asked. “I mean, really?”

“Isn’t that from a movie?” Dooley asked. “Something with stars. Um, Star Trek ? No! Um, Star Wars ! Or… Starman ? Stardust !”

“Harry Potter, Dooley,” I said curtly. “And no, we’re not naming Diego He Who Cannot Be Named.”

At the sound of the name Diego, Brutus had squeezed his eyes shut and had started singing, “Lalalalalalal!” at the top of his voice. Very mature.

“Let’s just ignore him altogether,” Dooley said, very wisely in my opinion.

“Let’s go, Brutus!” I cried.

He stopped singing Lalala and got up with a weary groan.

We left the house and set paw for the Hampton Springs Hotel. It wasn’t all that far. Hampton Cove is pretty much a one-horse town. Well, actually it’s a no-horse town, though we have many cats, as I’ve amply illustrated.

“So where are we going?” Brutus asked, as despondent as ever. “Not that I care,” he added. “Cause I don’t. I just don’t want to go too far. I’m feeling weak.”

“Hey, I was feeling weak yesterday,” Dooley said. “But that’s because I thought I was dying. But then Odelia told me I was fine, and since she’s a doctor, she can tell if you’re dying, and I’m not, so now I’m fine again, if you see what I mean.”

“What are you talking about?” Brutus grumbled. “Odelia is a reporter, not a doctor.”

Uh-oh. I tried to gesture to the black cat, but he studiously ignored me.

“Odelia’s dad is a doctor, and since that kind of stuff runs in the family, she’s a doctor, too. It’s all genetics, isn’t that right, Max?”

I gave him my best smile and nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“What a load of nonsense,” Brutus said. “Doctors have to go to school for about a hundred years. That stuff’s not genetic. It’s taught! Odelia is as much a doctor as I am a voodoo priest. I’m not a voodoo priest,” he added, to make things perfectly clear.

Dooley got that confused look in his eyes again. He gets that a lot. You might say it’s his standard expression. “Max? What is Brutus saying?”

“Don’t listen to Brutus. He’s still thinking about Diego.”

“Lalalalalala!” Brutus immediately sang.

“See? The guy doesn’t know what he’s saying,” I said. “Trust me, Dooley. Odelia is a doctor and you’re not going to die.”

His face cleared again, and morphed into an expression of childlike glee. It’s his second standard expression. All in all Dooley is pretty limited in his facial expressions.

“So where are we going?” Brutus asked again, once he’d caught on to the fact that I’d stopped using the name Diego.

We were ambling along the sidewalk and had already reached the end of the block. Only a few more blocks and we were at our destination.

“We’re going to the Hampton Springs Hotel,” Dooley informed him, a spring in his step. “We’re going to see a dog about an alibi.”

“Huh?” Brutus asked. “Did you say we’re going to see a dog?”

“Yep. That’s right. We’re going to see Stacie Roebuck’s dog Puck.”

“Who’s Stacie Roebuck and who’s Puck?”

I sighed. That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention. “Stacie Roebuck is—or was—Niklaus Skad’s assistant. It has come to our attention that Niklaus Skad owns—or owned—a Portuguese Water Dog.”

“He’s in all the pictures,” said Dooley. “And was the mascot of Kitchen Disasters . That dog went everywhere with Niklaus.”

“And according to Odelia, Stacie took the dog when Niklaus died.”

“Portuguese Water Dogs are just the coolest, don’t you think?” Dooley asked. “President Obama had a Portuguese Water Dog. He was called Bo. I like the name Bo. It’s a nice name.”

“What is this? Jeopardy ? Who cares who had what dog called whatever? They’re dogs—we’re cats. We don’t mingle.”

“That’s a very conservative point of view,” I said. “It is my opinion that dogs can actually be very nice. I mean, dumb, of course—that stands to reason—but they can be very useful witnesses in a murder investigation. Remember that French bulldog we met not so long ago? The one that belonged to the dead reality star?”

“Oh, you mean Kane?” asked Dooley. “Yeah, he was nice, wasn’t he?”

“Just a dumb mutt,” Brutus muttered.

“Well, that dumb mutt provided us with the telling clue, didn’t he?”

“He sure did, Max,” Dooley said happily.

Brutus gave Dooley a dirty look. “Do you have to be so happy?”

“I’m not dying,” Dooley said. “And that makes me happy as a clam!”

“Ugh,” Brutus grunted, and shook his head. “You make me sick.”

We arrived at the hotel and looked up at the third floor, where Odelia had told us Stacie Roebuck’s room was. I hadn’t worked out the logistics of this thing, and now saw the fatal flaw in my plan. How were we ever going to get up there?

“Um, how are we going to get up there, Max?” Dooley asked.

“Maybe we can jump,” Brutus said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

“Why don’t we just, you know, use the stairs?” I asked.

“You mean go inside?” Dooley asked. “What a novel idea! Max, you’re so smart!”

And immediately he skipped away, en route to the hotel entrance.

“I swear, if he keeps this up I’m going to kill him,” Brutus growled.

“Just leave him be,” I said. “Dooley has a bipolar streak. Happy one minute, down the next.”

“Don’t tell me, did Doctor Odelia tell you this, too?” he snarled.

I shrugged. “Anything to keep him happy. I’m sure he’s healthy, and now he believes it, too. So what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that is that you lied to him.”

“Just a little white lie.”

“White lie or not, he’ll find out soon enough, and he’ll never believe you again.”

I grinned. “Then you don’t know Dooley. He has the memory span of a kitten. This time tomorrow he’ll have forgotten all about this episode.”

“Lucky him. I wish I could forget about Harriet and… You Know Who.”

“Diego will not be a part of our lives for very long, Brutus,” I said, and for once he didn’t start singing Lalala but merely gave me a penetrating look.

“You better not be lying to me, Max. Cause I’m not like Dooley. I have a great memory. And if you’re lying to me…” He heaved his paw and extended his claws. I swear they looked like something from The Wolverine . Sharp and long!

He didn’t have to say more. I gulped. “I’m not lying,” I promised, and I almost believed it myself.

“Come on, you guys!” Dooley yelled. “Try to keep up!”

We jogged after him, and up the few steps that led to the hotel entrance. It was one of those revolving doors and I didn’t like the look of it. A cat can easily get stuck between those doors and be chopped in half!

“Um, I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” I ventured.

“It’s a great idea!” Dooley said. “Just like a merry-go-round!” And before I could stop him, he’d darted up to the door and was streaking inside.

I shared a weary look with Brutus, and we both shook our heads. “Let’s just do this,” he grunted. Brutus went first, and I followed a close second. There was a momentary confusion when I had no idea if I’d missed my exit, but when I found myself in a plush-looking lobby, my claws digging into a nice high-pile burgundy carpet, I knew I was in the right place.

Dooley was already high-tailing it to the sweeping dual staircase, and lucky for us there weren’t many people in the lobby, so no one stepped on my tail or kicked me in the ribs. Yep, the life of a cat can be brutal.